Some Thoughts on Public Lands (from a kayak on a bayou)

(photo by Tom)

On the eighth day of the government shutdown, we went fishing....or rather, Tom did. I took along pen, paper, a book about bees (A Sting in the Tale, by Dave Goulson), and a camera. Although we thoroughly enjoyed our approximately nine miles of leisurely paddle, Tom didn't catch anything worth keeping, and listening to NPR on the drive back home, we learned that Congress hadn't passed a continuing resolution to keep last year's budget, and the country was still heading toward default on the debt. But at least we had spent a pleasant day paddling in our kayaks on Bayou Lacombe. I drifted for a while and wrote the following (slightly edited):

We headed to Bayou Lacombe some little time before 8 a.m. and set in at the Main Street boat ramp in Lacombe, south of US 190. The morning was cool and bright. Our plan was to paddle upstream toward the back door of the Bayou Lacombe Centre, the headquarters of the Southeast Louisiana National Wildlife Refuges. Because of the shutdown, the front doors were closed, but the waterway is state land, open to the public. We weren't going to go on the refuge--just peek in the back door from the bayou.

Bayou Lacombe

The first lesson we learned is one we knew but hadn't heeded sufficiently--bayous are twisty and tricksy. We got all the way up to a low bridge on US 190 before we realized we had been traveling a tributary. The bridge was not only too low for us to go under it easily; the water on the other side was not our destination. So we turned back and paddled almost to the boat ramp, finding the branch of the bayou we needed to get to our destination. The US 190 bridge over the main tributary has a much higher clearance, and we made our way under. We still found ourselves going in a circle, as we circumnavigated an island just north of 190, near a house we had looked at when we were house-hunting in 2010. However, the signs of the national wildlife refuge soon appeared. Tom found a shady spot in which to cast his fishing line, and I paddled upstream, taking photos. Kingfishers flew ahead of me, skimming the surface of the bayou. I startled up some mallards, and several anhingas crossed overhead, their necks taut with alarm.

Bayou Lacombe

I am writing this now while in my kayak, drifting. Tom is still trying to catch some fish, though he isn't having much luck. He caught a couple of sunfish that he threw back. It's probably near 1 p.m., if not a little after. We aren't too far from I-12 [we were actually farther than I thought; the bayou twists and turns through the landscape], as I hear traffic in the distance, as well as heavy machinery on the cleared land we passed. I wonder if that's the site of the new waste transfer facility that local people tried to prevent being located too close to this waterway. [still not sure what the cleared area is]

On Bayou Lacombe, one is never far from the sounds and impact of "civilization," but the lands of the refuge provide a respite from the crowd-weary and a haven for wildlife. It's in places such as this, I think, that one can really see the benefit of public lands, lands that are easily accessed by people living in urban areas not so far away. Kids of the middle-class, working class, and working poor in New Orleans can attend the educational events at the Bayou Lacombe Centre. The waterway is accessible to them and not just to the rich folk with their pleasure boats and huge yachts tied up to their docks downstream.

Big boats and little boats on Bayou Lacombe (photo by Tom)

 Wilderness has its pleasures for those with the leisure, modes of transportation, and camping gear to access the backcountry, but wild life refuges at the back door of urban areas provide access for those with limited resources. This is one of the true purposes of public lands--beyond the purpose of maintaining wild areas for the native flora and fauna that would otherwise disappear under the heel of unchecked development. Without these public lands, only the wealthy and well-connected could enjoy the beauties of land kept undeveloped with their monied interests. Every scenic view would be occupied by those who could pay dearly for the privatized pleasure.

Bayou Lacombe

Those who support the radicals in their pursuit of a government shut down and debt crisis don't seem to understand this. They complain about major monuments and national parks being closed yet do not appreciate the human power that maintains those public spaces, from the person who cleans the toilets at the visitor centers to the person who manages the staff who conserve and care for those lands.

duck box and its reflection on the edge of the refuge

During this shutdown, many people have complained about government websites that have been shut down, too. Well, I think every government website should be shuttered as long as the shutdown lasts: those websites are created by content experts as well as computer technology. Those content experts are federal employees, scientists and educators whose expertise is made available to the public. Without adequate funding this expertise would not be shared so readily. Let the public see how our lives would be greatly diminished without these resources, without these public lands, without the government funds that pay federal employees  . . . .

One of the casualties of the shutdown, cancellation of an event that thousands of people look forward to every fall at the Bayou Lacombe Centre

Michele Bachmann has been on the  radio talking about how these are the "End Times," and how we should be happy--"Maranatha, thank you, Jesus," she says. It is very disturbing that people such as she are eager to shut down the U. S. government and not raise the debt limit. Chaos just brings them closer to heaven. Is it any wonder that far-right Christians are anti-government? They don't really think they need to examine the long-term consequences of their actions. They think Jesus will rescue them from their folly in clouds of glory. [I grew up in a similarly End-Times-infused culture, so I know about its power and appeal.]

illuminated cypress and its reflection on Bayou Lacombe: what's up and what's down?

Having written down some of the thoughts that had been swirling around in my head, I finished the paddle in a more optimistic frame of mind, despite the less than cheerful news we heard later on the radio and read online. We pulled our kayaks out of the bayou around 3:30 p.m. Tom caught only a gar and several undersized sunfish. But it was a good day.

Tom showing off the gar he caught; he let it go.

Laughing at the End Times

The story of Rev. Camping's deadline for the end of the world and the rapture of the faithful just barely crossed my consciousness at first. Others had predicted the end of the world and had lived to see the deadline come and go, to see the sun rise the following morning and set the following evening. I had seen a billboard announcing the end and made some passing comment to the other passenger in the car I was in. Then I pretty much thought of other things. But then news organizations began focusing on the predicted event, on the man who made the prediction, on the followers who were preparing to leave this earth, and on the millions of dollars of donations that Family Radio has received.

On Thursday, NPR posted a request on Facebook that people choose the song or musical composition they thought was most appropriate to be listening to as the end approached. Thousands of Facebook friends complied, and, for fun, I created a Countdown to the End of Time play list of my own, and when I told my adult children what I was doing, they started creating their own play lists. I first scrolled through the responses of NPR's FB friends and chose from those suggestions songs that I liked. Then I added my own pensive suggestions. When I finished, I had 30 songs on my End of Time playlist, and I posted the list in my notes on Facebook, along with YouTube links to performances. Some of the songs I chose were melancholy (Eliza Gilkyson's "When You Walk On"), others comforting and hopeful (Modest Mouse's "Float On"), and some downright silly (Monty Python's "Galaxy Song: Remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving and revolving...").

My family shared our songs, we noted the next day the times that Reverend Camping said the Rapture would begin, and also noted that the Rapture could be happening and the four of us would not know it because, well, we expected to be left behind if such an event really occurred--though there was a time when I, a child of the Southern Baptist Church, would have expected to be in the number of those rising into the clouds.

As Saturday evening waned, I expressed some sympathy for Reverend Camping and his followers, who were discovering what they so longed for was not going to happen as predicted. We wondered what these disappointed folks would do now. And then we passed the evening in playing a game of Scrabble.

Then, this morning I began some selected reading online and came across Tiffany Stanley's finger-wagging article "The Media's Shameful Obsession" on The New Republic's website. Stanley takes to task those in the media who have expressed smugness or superiority in their coverage of Harold Camping and his followers. She labels the coverage "a media circus."

There's a cruelty underlying our desire to laugh at this story [Stanley writes]--a desire to see people humiliated and to revel in our own superiority and rationality--even though the people in question are pretty tragic characters, who either have serious problems themselves or perhaps are being taken advantage of, or both.

Well, maybe that's so in many cases, but as a survivor of The Rapture--or, rather, of obsession with The Rapture--I think that I need to feel no shame at creating my playful play list for the end of times and for shaking my head at the hubris or senility or insanity of a man who thinks he can predict the end of the world.

In the Southern Baptist church in which I grew up, I was immersed in the literature of the End Times. We read Hal Lindsey's Late Great Planet Earth, studied it in evening services, pored over its confident charts outlining the ages of man and world events that all inevitably led to the world's ending....maybe in the 1980s. In any event, we were convinced that the end was near. My sisters and I, a performing trio in our church, sang a song "I Wish We'd All Been Ready," which not only scared the hell out of me (literally, I decided to be baptized a second time, just in case the first baptism didn't take) but also gave me nightmares (Christ came in the clouds, and my feet couldn't quite get off the ground). 

I was a smug, self-righteous twerp who also agonized too intensely over the state of her own soul. But because I was also a studious child, really interested in the world and in the viewpoints of other people, and also, of course, sinful beyond my own childish imaginings, I outgrew that  insular religious phase. The world didn't come to an end. And when, in 1978, Egyptian president Anwar Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin signed the Camp David Accords, my love affair with The Rapture and the teachings of the end times in the Southern Baptist Church pretty much ended. I watched the news with great expectation. The 70s had been full of violence, and the thought of two enemies trying to make peace between their nations filled me with hope. Yet many people in our churches did not welcome this event; it was viewed through the distorted lenses of a particular interpretation of the most controversial book in the New Testament, The Revelation. The predictions were that instead of ushering in peace, the agreements heralded the approaching end of the world.

I began to note that every movement toward peace was viewed with suspicion, as evidence that some crazy Anti-Christ was going to take over the world. How mixed up is that, I thought. It's almost as if the those who revel in the chaos of some End Time are working toward a self-fulfilling prophecy--reacting with suspicion and even outright hostility to any person or world event that suggests peaceful solutions are possible. Any charismatic leader with a message of hope was a possible Anti-Christ.

That world view has consequences today. Hal Lindsey can suggest that Barack Obama, with a campaign message of hope and change, may be the Anti-Christ, the Beast described in The Revelation, and thousands, perhaps millions, of people take his comment seriously. Michelle Bachmann, a possible Republican candidate for President, can negatively twist Obama's speech on the Middle East, and thousands of Christians will believe her distorted version, especially when she purses her lips into the dog whistle that those who reject Israel (in whatever way she defines "rejection") will be "cursed." 

In 2010, the Pew Research Center, in conjunction with The Smithsonian, polled Americans to discover what they thought about the future of the world and the United States. Forty-one percent of those polled believed that Jesus Christ will return within the next 50 years. If you're expected to be taken out of the world in an instant, in a flash of lightning, you're not going to get too torqued about world peace or global climate change or Medicare or Medicaid--or in making the world a better place in any number of ways. In fact, you might be pretty hostile to any organization or group of people who would attempt to make the world a better place or the lives of others less fraught with peril. A peaceful world--or even a somewhat peaceful world--would undermine your whole world view, that only you and other selected good people will be saved while the world erupts in flames.

I hear and understand the dog whistles. My ears were once atuned to those high-pitched tones. I've lived in Oz; I believed in Oz. But I've been behind the curtain, and I didn't like one bit what I saw. Unfortunately, those who would laugh at that forty-one percent also might not recognize the serious consequences of a belief that absolves one of responsibility toward a world one expects to be providentially destroyed in one's lifetime.

So, here's to Reverend Camping and all those who would divert us from trying to solve the problems that we have here on this one world: John Lennon--"Imagine."